Adding to the Collective
by clagjanet
Summary: Resistance is futile.
_Disclaimer: none of these characters belong to me; they belong to Shoot the Moon Enterprises and Warner Bros to whom I am eternally grateful for the opportunity to take them out for a spin and bit of light humour._

 **Adding to the Collective**

She closed her eyes as another wave of pain washed over her, even through the masking drugs. The machines beside the bed beeped and puffed and hummed in a strange syncopated rhythm that she found alternately soothing and annoying. Annoying because although she was so tired, she couldn't really even drift off into sleep with the odd noises bouncing around in her head; soothing because their steady rhythm told her that so far everything was still fine and that she had no real reason to be afraid.

Nurses came and went, murmuring encouragement in quiet tones, and regularly disentangling her from all the wires and the IV lines to carefully roll her from one side to the other because she was unable to do it herself – it was a two-person job even with her trying to be helpful while they did it.

What time was it? How long had she'd been here? It already felt like forever but she was could almost remember a life before these four walls, a life on the outside, a life before pain and hospitals beds and this endless, endless noise.

And where was he? He'd left at some point, she knew, shooed out by the nurses. "Go home, take a shower, take a nap. You've been here over 24 hours. Come back later, it'll be fine. Nothing's going to happen while you're gone. We'll look after her. We'll call you." She could tell he didn't really want to leave but part of her was sick of him being there, when he was so easy-going and _mobile._ She'd joined the nurses' choir. _Just go home. You need to feed your cat_. _A cat_ – she was in love with a man with _a cat_. Okay, she'd helped pick the cat, but it had always liked him better as if it had known from the start that he was the soft touch. The cat was right –he was a giant softie who knew exactly how to deal with things with claws and inexplicable bad moods and a deep-seated desire not to be disturbed when sleeping.

So he'd gone, and even though it had only been a few hours, she was already desperate to have him back. A tear trickled down her cheek, more from self-pity than anything else. The IV drip of pain relief was doing a pretty good job actually, no complaints there. _Go home, take a shower_ , the nurses had told him. She thought back to the night before when he'd stripped down to join her in the shower, holding her up when she couldn't stand anymore, arms wrapped around her, as she leaned back against his body like a cushion between her and the cold tile, while the scalding hot water had poured down on her like a balm. He'd murmured words of love into her ear until she'd actually fallen asleep for a while under the stream of water, sitting in his lap on the shower stall floor. She started to cry a little harder at the memory. Even if he was here now, he wouldn't be able to hold her like that now – not with all these wires and tubes.

But now he was back. He was finally back and she struggled to suck back the tiny sob of relief. He walked slowly towards her, head slightly tilted in confusion. "Were you this, ummm, like this when I left? I know I was tired but I feel like I'd remember all this." He was gesturing to the variety of machinery that had appeared in the last few hours.

"No, we added a few more monitors this morning," said the nurse brightly. Too damn brightly, she thought and the look of disgust must have shown because suddenly his lips were twitching as he strode across the room to take her hand and lean down for a long kiss.

"It's about time you got back," she grumbled. "How's Mandu?" (Because, of course, he'd named the kitten Cat Mandu).

"She's fine. Lonely and grumpy, just like you," he smiled down at her. "But nowhere near as beautiful."

"Beautiful?" she snorted. "I haven't slept most of the night, I don't have any makeup on, I haven't even brushed my hair and now I'm hooked up to," she paused and did a quick count, "six different machines and I can't even roll over by myself!"

"You look beautiful," he repeated. He tilted his head again to study her and she could see him trying not to laugh.

"What?" she asked suspiciously.

"Well, it's just that you look like –". Now he was really trying not to laugh.

"What do I look like?" she challenged him.

"You look like a Borg," he admitted finally. "All wired up and plugged into the collective."

She stared at him in disbelief but it was the snort of disgust from the nurse who'd been listening in that sent her over the edge into giggles.

"Seriously? The Borg? This is when you choose to tell me you find the Borg beautiful?"

"Well you know what they say," he murmured leaning in to kiss her again. "Resistance is futile."

"If I'd resisted you, Beaman, I wouldn't be in this position now," she gestured towards her swollen abdomen, currently wrapped in a contraction monitor and a fetal heart monitor.

"Too late to change your mind now, Desmond." She watched his face soften as he stared at the monitor emitting the faint swish-swish-swish sound of the baby's heartbeat. "We're on our way to that final frontier whether you like it or not."

"Well, first contact needs to happen at warp speed," she grumbled. "I've been here for two days and your damn baby still won't come out. In fact, I'm pretty sure she crawled back in after they stuck that heartbeat thingy to her head."

"To her head?" Efraim looked startled and she watched his eye follow the wire from the monitor down the bed until it disappeared under her gown and his eyes widened. "Oh."

"Exactly," said Francine. "Make yourself useful and make her come out."

"Didn't the nurse at the childbirth classes say sex is good for that?" he asked grinning and they both heard the choke of laughter from the nurse, quickly covered by a cough.

Francine tried to punch him in the arm but couldn't get any heft into it with the saline drip impeding her reach. "They said it was good for getting the contractions going. I'm not having trouble with those, you turkey."

Just then the doctor appeared, bustling in with his clipboard and a flotilla of nurses behind him.

"Well, well Mrs –uh," he began staring at his notes in confusion.

"Ms. Ms. Desmond," she glared at him. The doctor looked at her in confusion then looked at Efraim who just smiled and did nothing to help him out.

"Ah yes, Ms. Desmond. It's been 46 hours since you came in and there's been very little progression in the usual way, so I'd like to suggest a Caesarian."

Francine studied him through narrowed eyes, her intense desire to be the best at things competing with her intense desire to _not be in labor anymore_ warring inside her. She looked at Efraim who shrugged slightly as if to say "Your call".

"Fine. Let's get this done."

O.o.o.O

Less than two hours later, she watched Efraim staring delightedly down at the tiny bundle in his arms. He looked up at her, eyes shining with tears. "She's beautiful," he said in awe. "She looks exactly like you."

"Not like a Borg?"

"Not like a Borg. More like Tasha Yar. " He looked down with a delighted smile. "How about Natasha?"

"No! Not Natasha!" grumbled Francine in a mock exasperated tone. "Lee would never stop with the Moose and Squirrel jokes."

"Good point," conceded Efraim. He studied the baby for another moment before looking up with a gleeful smile. "We could call her Amanda after Spock's mother. _Wa'na'shau_ , little one," he murmured, his gaze drawn back to his daughter's dark blue eyes staring at him unblinkingly.

Even exhausted, Francine couldn't help giving a gurgle of laughter at the suggestion. "Maybe as a middle name. And stop trying to teach her Vulcan. She's going to be a warrior – she should learn Klingon. Or Elvish." She paused, watching Efraim still trying to outstare the baby. "How about Arwen?"

Efraim tilted his head to one side and gave the baby a considering look. "Arwen Amanda Desmond?"

"Arwen Amanda Beaman," replied Francine. She met his surprised look with a slight shrug, "I spent far too much time trying to live up to my father's name. That name stops with me."

"Arwen Amanda Beaman," repeated Efraim softly. "Amtulya Arwen, _welcome blessed one_ " he crooned at the baby before looking up apologetically at Francine. "Sorry, my Elvish is rusty."

"Close enough," she smiled at him through a haze of exhaustion. "Gi melin. _I love you._ "

"I love you too," he answered, as finally, for the first time in two days, Francine drifted off to sleep.


End file.
